


scared i'll be torn apart by a wolf in mask

by darklips_paleface



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Sex, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek's Pack is all Happy and Alive, Erica Reyes Lives, M/M, Mentioned Gerard Argent Torture Basement, Mentioned Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Mentions of past panic attacks, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Protective Derek, Stiles Stilinski's Birthday, Top Derek, Vernon Boyd Lives, but it is a CLOSE call, mentions of hale house fire, very technically not underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklips_paleface/pseuds/darklips_paleface
Summary: Stiles had started walking through the woods hours ago, no real end destination in sight. He’d somehow eventually ended up at the preserve, though, because apparently all roads lead to Hale.Title from "Candles" by Daughter
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 248





	scared i'll be torn apart by a wolf in mask

**Author's Note:**

> see now this is a weird time to write teen wolf fic for the first time ever, huh? i'm gonna be real chief i watched this show once then proceeded to spend the next ten years of my life reading sterek fic so if any of this doesn't add up w the show? not a shock to me.
> 
> lets say this is like post s2 ish? yeah? and we're all alive and there's no alpha pack and things are like sorta okay. this isn't underage technically but if thats at all yucky to you this is literally birthday sex on stiles' 18th so factor that in.

Stiles knows, subconsciously, how odd it is to be celebrating his birthday by aimlessly wandering through a seemingly abandoned house. Knows that it’s somewhat pathetic, and very telling of his current social life (or lack thereof). Because birthdays were always spent with Scott, staying up too late playing video games and eating sugary foods even when they’d far passed the ages where that kind of partying seemed fun or exciting. Except, Stiles hasn’t talked to Scott in weeks. Being tortured in the basement of Scott’s girlfriend’s family home, by her grandfather, had a not insignificant impact on their friendship. Scott loves Allison. Allison’s family nearly killed Stiles. Things were complicated. 

So; even with the big bad of the week defeated and the pack falling into some sense of normalcy, an almost truce settling between Scott and the rest of the pack, Stiles was spending his birthday alone. Things were good, he shouldn’t be wallowing about something so childish. Especially now that he was so far removed from any of the naivety he used to have, how carefree and happy he’d been as a child. Realistically, he should still have that. He was in his youth, his prime, he shouldn’t feel as old as he currently did. Being tortured tended to fuck shit up a bit, though.

Stiles had started walking through the woods hours ago, no real end destination in sight. He’d somehow eventually ended up at the preserve, though, because apparently all roads lead to Hale. And Stiles couldn’t help himself, he was pleasantly surprised. Derek and the pack had begun remodeling the house shortly after the final battle with Gerard. Apparently Derek had decided that the pack needed an actual home-base, something more comfortable than an abandoned train station. Stiles almost wanted to applaud him for his expert adult decision making on that. 

Because, well, lately… Derek had been _exceptionally_ mature. And yes, that really shouldn’t be noteworthy seeing as he was about half a decade older than the teens he’d decided to spend all his time with, but Stiles had always sort of glossed over Derek’s age. It was like his emotional maturity had stopped developing somewhere around the time that his whole family had been burned alive in front of him. But, now- well, now Derek was putting on his big boy pants and making a home for the wayward kids he’d semi-adopted, or bitten or whatever, and Stiles had to applaud him for that. Even though Scott refused to do so, still. Avoided the pack like they had wronged him personally, when all they’d done as of late was try to welcome him in. Oh, he didn’t actively fight them- mostly so that he could call it a truce every time Stiles brought up how ridiculous Scott was being- but he was far from cuddles at the Hale house or movie nights or even just a polite hello when he saw the other betas at school.

Which was maybe another reason Stiles and Scott had grown so distant as of late. Ever since being bruised and broken and beaten for hour upon tortuous hour in the Argent’s basement, Stiles had grown closer to the Hale pack. He didn’t know if it was from some sort of fucked up sense of pity on their part, or the need to be comforted by as many warm bodies as possible on his, but whatever it was: somehow, Stiles had been drawn to them. Had become something like a pack-mate, or at least he hoped he was. If nothing else, he was friends with them. And Scott wasn’t. So, again; things were complicated. 

Which was how Stiles had ended up here. Alone, on his birthday, in the empty Hale house.

“Stiles? What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” Or not so alone, so it seemed.

Stiles whipped around almost fast enough to make himself dizzy, not quite startled but also not at all anticipating Derek’s presence. Which was ridiculous, he was in _Derek’s house._ “Oh, hah, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t think you were-”

“I wasn’t. I was out, running, but then I felt-”

“You could _feel_ me coming here? Whoa, I didn’t realize your wolfy powers were that intense.”

Derek hummed noncommittally. “I wasn’t very far.” He leaves the rest unspoken, the part about how he probably _never_ goes very far anymore, how Stiles would bet money that Derek would rather die than leave Beacon Hills because what if another hunter showed up with a can of gasoline and a lighter? He’s essentially trapped, now that he’s back; he can never wander too far from the mass grave of his entire family. The thought sends a shiver up Stiles’ spine.

“Are you cold?” Derek asks calmly, looking around for his jacket or a blanket or something because- _huh._ Why hadn’t Stiles noticed where he was? That he had ended up walking straight into Derek’s room without even processing it? 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even notice I- I swear, I wasn’t, like, going through your things or anything.” Stiles tries, cringing at how much that is _exactly_ what someone would say if they _had_ just been going through said person’s things.

Derek ignores him in favor of passing over what appears to be one of Stiles’ hoodies. Which, should maybe be more surprising. Just like Derek should maybe be more perturbed by Stiles’ minor break-in. But it actually wasn’t altogether uncommon for Stiles to just… show up at the Hale house these days. Sometimes he would come with the rest of the pack, after school with no forewarning other than Isaac, Erica and Boyd all piling into his jeep like it was normal and not totally spur of the moment. Sometimes it was for pack night- Saturdays, every other week- where they would all watch movies and laugh and pretend that three out of five of them had not been beaten within an inch of their lives by some old fuck only a few months ago. And sometimes it was like this, just Stiles, wandering alone in the woods until he eventually stumbled on Derek’s house and decided to pop in for a spell. Derek never complained, usually just made dinner and quietly read a book as Stiles put on some new TV show to talk over or worked on homework or-

Sometimes it wasn’t that domestic. Sometimes Stiles had panic attacks that Derek had to help him through, or Derek was unnervingly quiet and Stiles knew that was his cue to make some tea and cover Derek in blankets, help him come back to reality safely. Sometimes it felt like they could never catch a break- that if it wasn’t a monster, or hunters, or a rival pack coming after them; then their own brains would fill in. Torment and attack and break them in new and frighteningly awful ways, because for people like Stiles and Derek: peace and happiness just weren’t options anymore.

Derek never really answers him, just watches and waits as Stiles tosses the hoodie on haphazardly. He’s just staring at Stiles, which should feel threatening or uncomfortable but had stopped being very effective some time ago. Stiles isn’t even sure anymore if that was ever really the intention of that level stare, actually.

“It’s my birthday.” He offers lamely, hoping it serves as some sort of explanation.

“I know.” Derek replies, so annoyingly patient.

“I mean, usually I spend my birthday with Scott, except we haven’t really talked in a while- which is...y’know.” And fuck but that hurt. It hurt with a growing and daily intensity that really couldn’t be described to someone who hadn’t lived through the specifically and uniquely terrible experience of losing your best friend sans closure. Stiles took a deep breath. “And my dad is working, which is fine, I don’t blame him. I mean, how could I, right? After everything I put him through? No, sorry, that sounds so shitty- like self-pity or some bullshit- and I really don’t even care that much, like, I don’t mind being alone, or I would’ve called the rest of the pack- not that I don’t like spending time with just you, or anything! It’s just not, like, a big deal, is all. So I guess I could’ve just stayed home alone, but…” Stiles feels a little slack-jawed, knows that his shock must be palpable. Derek never usually lets him just _ramble_ like that, not even since they’ve become...well, _friends_ , essentially. “You gonna cut me off any time there, bud? Or just let me flounder like a doofus?”

Derek smirks a little. “I don’t know that I’ve heard you so nervous since- well, since.”

They both know what he’s referring to. Nobody ever talks about it, or at least if they do they wait til Stiles isn’t around. Instead, they’ve developed a way to reference those hours in the basement with Gerard that transcends language. 

“Hah, I’m not- _you’re_ nervous! I’m totally-” Stiles tries to lean casually against the bureau that _should_ be about an inch from where his left arm dangles, but instead finds himself falling through thin air, just barely catching himself before he faceplants on the hardwood of Derek’s bedroom. Derek, for his part, just laughs. “Hey, fuck you, man!”

Derek’s still smiling when he says, “So, you were saying something about not being nervous?”

Which is even _more_ fucking irritating, because Stiles really doesn’t know why the fuck he’s nervous right now. He _is_ nervous, feels his heart pounding and palms sweating in ways they haven’t for months now. Except it’s not like then, it’s not because he’s about to be killed, or worse- it feels closer to… _excitement._

“Hey, let’s just chalk it up to a perk of the job, y’know?” Stiles tries for a laugh, but it just comes out forced as hell. “Hangin’ out with werewolves, can never be too cautious. Good to stay on your toes, a little nerves never killed anybody!”

Derek takes a measured step closer. “Except you’re not scared of me, not anymore.” Then he seems to think better of that, closing himself off by crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of any of us.”

Stiles feels a little bit like maybe he stepped onstage in the opening performance of a show he never memorized, or like he’s been handed the instructions to some giant and complicated puzzle he needs to solve but they’re all in Greek. He’s lost, but part of him thinks he _should_ know why everything feels so tense between him and Derek all of the sudden.

He takes a deep breath, and a very tiny step closer making the space between them almost non-existent, before acting on instinct. “Aren’t you going to wish me a happy birthday, Derek?”

Derek’s pupils widen marginally, a tell Stiles is sure he would’ve missed if they weren’t standing so damn _close._ He uncrosses his arms, brings one hand up to cup Stiles’ jaw. “Happy birthday, Stiles.”

Stiles looks up at him through his lashes, even though they’re basically the same height nowadays. “What, no present?”

It’s a dare, of sorts. A challenge that Stiles himself isn’t man enough to rise to alone. Has to pass that along to Derek, make Derek be the one to make the first move from which neither of them will ever be able to go back. Derek is, predictably, cautious. The time it takes him to decide whether or not to move seems to stretch on for centuries, but just like Derek had been with him earlier, Stiles is patient. 

Then, Derek leans in. It’s slow and sweet and maddeningly chaste, just the dry press of lips against lips. Over far too fast, before Stiles can even really be sure it’s happened. Derek doesn’t pull back entirely, though, instead whispers into Stiles’ mouth, “Happy birthday” one more time, before diving back in. This time, Stiles makes the wise decision to open his mouth to him, let the big bad wolf in. And that- _shit._

Kissing Derek like that, hot mouths and the clash of teeth and tongue, feels like pure _sin._

Derek is assertive, but not aggressive- pushing Stiles back towards the bed until his legs buckle under the weight of Derek’s obvious _want._ They’re both losing clothing at a speed that Stiles wasn’t quite prepared for, and suddenly he remembers that he’s just a pale, scrawny _nothing_ compared to Derek. He berates himself for it, but he can’t help but pull his arms up and around himself, trying to protect Derek from the sight of his mole-dotted and scar-ruined chest. It feels stupid, childish- acting so shy. But then again, Stiles reminds himself, even after everything he’s been through in the past year he’s still so _young._ He’s still a virgin, still awkward and inexperienced and naïve. Gerard had broken so much in Stiles- bones and skin and _spirit-_ but he hadn’t been able to break that part of him, the part that remained innocent and pure.

No, that honor would be going to one Derek Hale.

“Hey,” Derek calls softly, gently trying to move Stiles’ arms back to their place around Derek’s neck, “hey, I want- Stiles, please. I want to see you.”

Stiles shakes his head, going entirely non-verbal in his petulance. And, wow, Derek probably really didn’t need _that_ particular reminder that he was messing around with a literal teenager- but, well, Stiles couldn’t help it. On this; he refused to budge. 

Derek sighs, beginning to pull away. “Wait! Wait, please don’t- I don’t want you to go.” It sounds a little too sincere for his liking, but at some point it appears Stiles had lost control of his actions and words and basically everything else, too. It feels like he’s high and totally out of his mind- and it’s not something he has any desire to let go of at present. 

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, Stiles. I just- I think this is too fast for you. I think we should maybe stop. I can't- '' It sounds like something is stuck in Derek’s throat, clogging up his vocal chords. He’s turned his head away, but Stiles feels like he can somehow feel the tears that are just barely beginning to form in Derek’s eyes. Maybe because they’re forming in his, too.

Because- _no._ Stiles knows _exactly_ where Derek’s thoughts have wandered off to, and he can _not_ allow him to think like that. Not even for a second. 

“I want this, Derek. I want you. You aren’t- _couldn’t_ \- make me do anything. You are _nothing_ like-” but he doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to bring _her_ in here with them, into this place that is so special and bursting with the best kind of potential. So instead he trusts that their non-verbal _whatever_ will get across what he means because he really, _really_ needs it to. Derek had already spent so much of his time hating himself, drawing comparisons between himself and every bad thing that had ever happened in Beacon Hills, considering himself to be the biggest bad of them all- the last thing Stiles could allow was Derek seeing himself as similar in any way to motherfucking _Kate Argent._

Because Derek Hale is _good._ Like, unfathomably good. He’s like the sunrise after the first snow and the smell of rain after a drought. He’s probably the best thing Stiles has going for him, has in his life at all, because Stiles is weak and damaged and Derek is strength and joy and _life._

Derek grumbles deep in his throat in a way that is both so threatening and yet so _childish_ that Stiles can’t help but smile. Derek holds worlds of contradictions within himself, and it’s terrifyingly endearing. He’s also the safest thing in Stiles’ life right now, which should maybe be a little bit more troublesome what with his dad still being the actual law and order of the town, but that’s neither here nor there. And that safety inspires trust- and that trust inspires Stiles to lower his arms with a shaky sigh. Derek’s reaction is immediate; his eyes grow wide and hungry, and yet there’s still something guarded and cautious in them.

“Stiles- are you _sure_?”

“God, Derek, what? You want me to _beg_ you to fuck me or something?” And it's supposed to be a joke, only Derek gasps a little like he would, in fact, _very_ much enjoy it if Stiles were to beg. Because they both know how this is going to go, where it’s leading. Where this _thing_ between them has been going since probably around the time Derek first started throwing Stiles into walls and leaving him with inappropriate boners to will away.

“I just- I don’t want this to be- your first time should be _special,_ Stiles.” And Stiles is kind of in awe that Derek can be so clearly on the brink of losing control and yet so wary still, so hesitant. 

“I mean, it’s you, Der. That’s special enough on it’s own, right?” The minute the words leave his mouth, though, Stiles regrets them. Wants to suck them back up and swallow them down because Jesus _Christ_ \- Derek doesn’t _owe_ him anything, it doesn’t _have_ to be special for him just because Stiles has been so blinded by his own stupidly pathetic crush on Derek that he failed to notice that maybe this was just a one-time, tension-release kind of thing for Derek. That maybe, in fact, by admitting to him that Derek in and of himself is special enough for Stiles, it would make Derek want to stop this altogether because he doesn’t feel anything for Stiles, doesn’t want to lead him on. Because Derek is a _nice_ guy, contrary to popular opinion, and he wouldn’t go through with something if he knew it would hurt his packmate.

But Derek doesn’t stop, just nods solemnly. Knowingly. “Yeah. Yeah, it is special. Special for me, too, Stiles.”

Which is probably the least amount of words any human being in the history of mankind has ever effectively used to convey so _much._ And that shouldn’t surprise Stiles- Derek under-talks every day and yet manages just as well as anyone else- but it still kinda knocks the breath right outta him.

So it’s a pretty good thing that Derek doesn’t leave him with much time to ruminate, instead he just swoops back in and starts kissing Stiles like his whole life depends on it. And Stiles would know, has seen Derek _fight_ like his life depended on it many a time, so having all that pushed into a kiss? Well, Stiles can’t really blame himself for moaning in response like the whore he always knew he was capable of being one day, if ever given the opportunity. And Derek _likes_ that, if the boner he starts grinding into Stiles’ hip is a fair enough indicator. 

Nothing about it is scary or intimidating in the way Stiles secretly assumed sex might be. It just feels kinda...right. Like they’re just waves on a beach, ebbing and flowing together. Stiles thinks he loses track of time for a minute there, because he certainly loses track of the rest of his and Derek’s clothes. 

And then somehow there’s Derek’s fingers, right there, covered in lube and pressing into him. And he’s just so fucking _gentle,_ and it’s not at all what Stiles was expecting except somehow _exactly_ what he’d expect, if he ever really _really_ thought about something like this happening which okay _yes_ he’d thought about it before, pictured it in vivid detail most mornings and nights and somedays in the middle of school when karma really hated his ass. So the fact that this thing, this huge, unnamable thing, was happening right here and now with him and Derek and it was all just… real and perfect and fucking _gentle?_ Yeah, Stiles is man enough to own the tears that start to leak from his eyes.

Derek, fucking sentimentalist that he is, just leans down and starts kissing the tear tracks running down Stiles’ face. 

“ _Fuck_ , Der, how am I ever supposed to get over you?” Stiles hates how telling his heat-of-the-moment babbling was turning out to be. Fuck Derek and his magic fingers that seemed to be working on both opening up his body and shutting down his brain-to-mouth filter. “How am I ever supposed to be with anyone else? Fuckin’ _ruining_ me on my first try.”

Derek huffs a little surprised laugh, face tucked right beside Stiles’ ear. “Who says I _want_ you to be with anyone else?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stiles’ inner-Scott wails about how creepy and possessive that sounds but Stiles resolutely decides to tune out inner-Scott. Because, well, apparently Stiles has a bit of a possessive kink, who knew?

All Stiles can really do in response to that is wrap his arms just a bit tighter around Derek’s neck. A silent plea, maybe, a _don’t be lying please don’t be lying, keep me forever do whatever you want with me I’m yours._ He hopes Derek understands.

And maybe he does, because he takes that moment to replace his three fingers inside of Stiles with his dick.

There’s this vague memory in Stiles’ mind about an old Irish term, a wail made in grief, called a keen. It’s probably the best way to describe the noise that comes out of him then, when Derek enters him for the first time. Maybe it’s not the best term, though- as he feels as far as one human could possibly be from grief when it happens.

Derek holds him a little closer, a soft shushing sound rumbling from deep in his chest. Stiles can feel it, tracks the vibrations of the noise as they work their way up Derek’s chest. _That’s_ how closely the two are pressed together. It’s odd, being this close to another person who had, only a year ago, been essentially a stranger to him.

“It’s okay, Stiles. I’ve got you.” Stiles wants to correct him, tell him he _knows_ it’s okay because he’s never been more okay in his entire _life._ Except he really feels like he needs to be comforted right now. Because Scott hates him and his dad probably hates him and his life in general is kinda falling apart and oh yeah he was fucking _tortured_ so he doesn’t correct Derek, just hides his face in the space between Derek’s neck and shoulder and lets him make it all better.

Derek goes slow, is so patient and caring that it hurts like biting something too sweet, and Stiles is eternally grateful. It feels like forever before he bottoms out, like maybe there was never even a time when Derek _wasn’t_ slowly pressing into him, and isn’t that just a really fucking good thought? Stiles wishes it were true. 

When he does, eventually, come to a stop- pressed as closely to Stiles as two humans can physically be- Stiles decides to finally pull his head back and look up at him. Derek looks _young._ It’s not the first time Stiles has had this thought, not even the first time tonight, that Derek is really not much older than him. That yes, maybe in the eyes of the law it was a significant age difference- but it wasn’t, not really. Not with how young _Derek_ had been when his life had fallen apart, more so than even Stiles’ has as of late. The thought makes him want to press a little closer, hold a little tighter, comfort Derek in some way possibly no one ever has before.

“Can- can I move?” Derek sounds a little strained, which is fair, considering how careful he’d been thus far. It’s also a nice little ego boost for Stiles that Derek seems to be in actual _pain_ trying to hold himself back. Stiles sighs, totally content for maybe the first time since everything had started in the preserve that night.

“Yeah- yes. Fuck, do whatever you want, Der.”

And that was, apparently, all the encouragement Derek needed. He keeps his thrusts measured but they’re hard and _deep_ and make Stiles feel like he’s been lit up from the inside out. It was incredible the devotion Derek was capable of conveying with just the simple act of in and out. Stiles decides quickly that he can’t physically stand to not be kissing Derek any longer, so with arms still wrapped tight around his neck, he pulls Derek’s face lower to press their open mouths together. It’s barely even kissing, really. A lot more like just panting into each other's open mouths with the occasional meeting of tongues and teeth. But it’s perfect and everything and exactly what they both needed.

Stiles had honestly felt like he’d been on a knife’s edge for hours now, unsure of how long he’d even been at the Hale house at this point, and found himself coming unexpectedly with a shout of Derek’s name. It was as much a surprise to him as it was to Derek, who looks at Stiles like he can’t quite believe he actually exists.

Derek allows him to go boneless, but never stops fucking him through his orgasm. Even as Stiles lay basking in the afterglow, Derek was still moving above him and around him and _inside_ of him. It was hot in a way Stiles couldn’t describe, having Derek use him like some kind of sex doll. Made his dick twitch valiantly in a vain attempt to make a reappearance. 

Eventually, Derek stilled. He thrust once, twice, three times more- and then he was coming, hot and heavy, inside of Stiles. It really should have been a more gross feeling, seeing as Stiles had always found jizz to be mostly icky, but it was more grounding than anything. Made this whole moment- this whole _night,_ which had begun to feel almost dream-like- suddenly and startlingly _real._ There was no denying what had happened, what they’d both fallen into. The evidence was buried deep inside of Stiles, impossible to ignore. 

Derek pulled out, sweeping his thumb across the delicate skin below Stiles’ eye where his hand still rested on Stiles’ cheek in something of an apology for the twinge of discomfort that action prompted. He flopped beside Stiles then, both facing the ceiling and panting like they’d run a marathon. Or a half marathon, at least.

“Shit.” Derek recovered first, and apparently dove straight from mind-blowing orgasm to gut-wrenching guilt and self-hatred. Only Derek Hale, ladies and gentlemen. “We shouldn’t have done that. _I_ shouldn’t have done that- should’ve know better, _fuck._ Fuck fuck fuck fuck-” Derek sprang up, immediately pacing across the room as if _that_ would somehow un-fuck Stiles.

“Hey, Der- it’s okay, Derek, c’mere. Calm down.” But Derek resolutely ignored him.

“ _Fuck_ , Stiles! God, what the fuck did I just do?! And your _dad-_ Holy shit! I’m gonna get arrested! Again!” 

“Oookay, take it down a notch there- no one’s getting arrested for anything relating to underage sex because I am now officially legal. So. Y’know, let’s maybe not focus on that part of this.”

Derek, for all that he had been panicking like a child moments ago, just glared at him. And _damn_ but if that wasn’t just so… _Derek._ So entirely normal of a response for him to have to Stiles speaking. It was nice, and that bit of normalcy meant that Derek wasn’t _actually_ freaking, wasn’t panicked because he was so unbelievably full of regret and shame. Probably.

“ _Stiles._ This was a mistake.”

“You wound me, Der. What, was my virgin ass really that bad? I mean I did my best, but you know what they say about practice and perfection and all that…”

Derek sighs, “ _Obviously_ you weren’t bad, Stiles. That’s the problem.”

Stiles smiles wide, even though, yeah, he kinda already knew that. Derek wasn’t exactly the ‘hit it and quit it’ type, this was obviously about more than just lust for him, too. But for some reason he saw that as a problem. Stiles gulped. 

“So what, you wanna keep us a secret then? Don’t want the pack to get their hopes up about having a new pack-mommy? I get it, I mean, who’d wanna admit they were all up in _this,”_ He says, gesturing to his own...everything, “right? No big, we don’t have to tell anyone.”

Derek looks down right _pissed_ at that. “ _No._ That’s not it at all. I don’t want to keep you a secret, especially from my pack. I just…”

And that seemed to be as much talking as Derek was willing to do for the evening, which was honestly much more than Stiles should have ever expected except it was also, frustratingly, expiring right at the meat and potatoes of this conversation.

“You gotta use your words, man. I know I’m usually pretty fluent in Derek’s Eyebrows, but this is the kinda talk we need to be having with actual _words._ ”

The noise Derek made in the back of his throat in response to that was something frustrated, like he was struggling to find the words but coming up short. It was also incredibly adorable. Stiles had to hold back an “aww”. 

Derek turns away, which wasn’t ideal but honestly if it was seeing how he felt versus hearing, in plain English, how he felt; Stiles could accept this trade. “I don’t want to ruin your life. Everything I touch turns to shit and I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you.”

“What makes you think you’d be ruining my life?”

“Because you’re young, and you could still get out. Out of Beacon Hills and out of this life, the supernatural life. You’re still human and still unharmed.” Stiles sees the flinch in Derek’s shoulders as he realizes what he’d said, “Still mostly unharmed. You’ve already been through enough, and you deserve to get out. With Scott cutting you out, it’s the perfect time to make a clean break from us, too. The pack.” 

Which was just so _Derek,_ stupid fucking self-hating bastard that he was. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was pissed at Derek or pissed at the deck he’d been dealt or _what,_ but those words hit him like a blow to the face. “And why the fuck would I want to do that?” Stiles demands, finally getting to his feet to look for his discarded clothes. This no longer felt like the kind of conversation to be had whilst nude.

“You may not _want_ to, Stiles, but you _need_ to. You’re not safe with us. With me.” Derek stated simply, offering Stiles his boxers and a t-shirt that may or may not have been his.

“Fuck you I’m not safe! I’m the human member of a werewolf pack, I’m safer than I would be if I left.” Stiles left a pause, just long enough for Derek to deny his status in the pack, and was pleased when no refusal came. “You’re self-sabotaging Derek because you don’t think you deserve to be happy or to have people in your life who care about you. But you have to admit that logically- I’m right. I’m in it now, there’s no leaving. If you send me off on my own I’m just one weak human, up against all the forces of evil alone. At least here I’m protected, defended.” Slowly, Stiles spins Derek to face him. It felt a little unfair that he was now clothed while Derek still wasn’t, though that didn’t seem to be bothering Derek in the slightest. _Damn werewolves and their super hotness._

Still, he decides to even the playing field by laying himself bare in another way. “I care about you, Derek. Even if it gets me hurt-” Derek’s eyes shutter at that, closing off any hope that might have been growing, “-which it _won’t._ But you can’t just boss me around anymore because it’s not gonna work. Tell me to leave all you want- I’m not going anywhere.” 

Derek looked _pissed,_ which Stiles merely smirked at. There was a sort of acceptance between them at that, and Derek huffed before releasing the tension that had wound it’s way up his spine. He turned to grab his own clothes off the floor, but he couldn’t mask the obvious relief Stiles saw in his expression before he went. 

“Do you want to order food or something? To celebrate?”

“What, me getting laid?”

Derek rolled his eyes and suppressed a laugh, “To celebrate your _birthday,_ asshole.”

“Oh right, that.” Stiles said, smug. He knew what Derek had meant, just felt like reaffirming the _awesome_ development in their relationship that had just occurred. “Is anyone even still open? What time is it-”

Just as Stiles reaches for his phone, Derek answers him. “It’s only ten, we could get pizza. There’s a place I like that’s open late.”

Stiles smiles wide, “Aw, is this our first date? Or does the pool count? I’m less inclined to count life-or-death situations, but I’m sure we could adjust the story a bit for the grandkids someday. Though which is really worse, almost drowning together or getting fu-” 

“ _Stiles.”_ Derek cuts in, exasperated but fond. “It’s not a date, it’s your birthday present.”

“Nuh-uh, you already gave me my present.” He challenged, “and that was _great._ This- this is a date. You’re paying because you’re a good and considerate boyfriend, and we are officially dating.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say, Stiles.”

“Do I need to call the pups and let them know the good news, or will they just smell it on us at the next pack meeting? Oh my god, _ew,_ can you guys just _smell_ when each other gets laid? That is honestly so disgusting, I can’t even-” before he could finish, though, he was rudely cut off by a pillow _thwacking_ the side of his head. “Hey! Not cool- I’m the birthday boy! AND YOUR BOYFRIEND! You can’t do that anymore, spousal abuse!”

“We’re not married!”

“But are we _mates?_ Is that a thing? Derek, you legally have to tell me if we’re mates!”

“There’s no law that says that.”

 _“_ DEREK MIDDLENAME HALE! THAT IS NOT A NO!”

There was still going to be monsters, and shitty best friends, and high school- but that would all be dealt with another day. For the night, they could laugh and be together and maybe even be in love- who knows. There was potential, and there was hope- and that was enough.


End file.
